


Always In Motion

by friends_call_me_wobbly_hands



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Angst, Fights, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Science Stuff, Timeline Jump, bones flying in all directions, even more puns, more puns, puns, random moments of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6470068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friends_call_me_wobbly_hands/pseuds/friends_call_me_wobbly_hands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saving a world is always tricky, especially when you are not even close to being a hero. But how about saving a world AND two toddlers? Or saving two worlds at once? Or trying to regain something that is no more? Or toiling to protect what is still left? You don't know where your breaking point is, and how much is too much. You don't know what the future holds. And you can do nothing really. Just - cling to hope, clench their hands, and never stop moving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1 - where the characters are introduced and doomed

**Author's Note:**

> My first work out there! Hope it will go alright. The updates are gonna be quite random, and that is not my fault - I've got exams coming, see.

Something is wrong.

Sans can tell because it’s so silent. It is better _inside_ , as you can shout and bang on everything and sing until your throat hurts. You can fill up the strange emptiness in the air. Thanks to the fact that parents are absent, no one will punish you for overstepping your volume boundaries. That may sound really great, but the truth is, if parents weren’t absent, the silence wouldn’t be here either. 

Still, it is better. Sans prefers not to think what is going on _outside_ , where there’re no walls to cage the sound. Do all the voices just flow away? Do they fade and rumble like dry flowers? Why is it so quiet everywhere?

Something is wrong. Something is missing.

Or maybe something is too much.

Their parents’ rooms gape with hollow doorways. Lights are off there, and Sans is aching to go and turn them on, but he somehow is too terrified to. He tries not to look in that direction and pretends that he doesn’t worry. He shouts and bangs, and bangs and shouts, until his throat is burning from inside and his hands feel like they are made of cotton-wool. He pretends that he is having fun.

But then he tires, and that silence settles everywhere once again.

It is a bad silence. Not a cozy one in a sleeping house, when you can make out everyone’s snoring and breathing if you listen enough. Not a funny one like during a game of hide-and-seek. A _bad_ one. Sans feels it settling in the dark corners like some terrible dust. The parents’ lifeless rooms bleed with the same dead silence.

Papyrus messes with his figurines, clashing them together while making noises of “buzz” and “paff paff”. Sans watches him for a moment and then snatches one of the dolls. His little brother immediately breaks the air with loud offended howling. Sans titters to himself and goes on playing. He feels glad.

He can’t really tell what satisfies him more: the success of his little operation or the fact that now he doesn’t hear the silence outside.

Papyrus tries to regain his lost property, and the holy war that immediately breaks out busies the brothers for a while. The sides are fighting violently. Papyrus lies in an ambush behind the coach and uses heavy artillery of plastic bricks. However, Sans is reluctant to give up and turns the tables by a lucky pillow throw. In a final wave he ravages with fire, sword and tickling, and Papyrus at last begs mercy.

It is fun while it lasts, but the war can’t go on endlessly. The sneezing and laughter and offended shifting die away. The silence creeps at the defenseless house again. And they still have to wait for their parents to come home. To come and tell them there’s nothing to worry about anymore.

Because, well, that’s what will happen, right?..

Sans takes the first book he can reach and burrows in it in the last, most desperate attempt to hide from the horror. That fails too. He can’t even tell if the book he is reading is on jokes or science. Letters float in front of him. A single phrase he is staring at makes no sense. He reads it again and again, unable to find out its meaning.  

Silence. Silence.  
_Silence_.

Even Papyrus seems to be affected. He starts whining, but that quiet sound only emphasizes the dread, so it dies in a wail quickly. The two brothers, wordless, stunned by the feeling of hollowness and loss, crawl behind the coach and cuddle there in a tangle of shaking limbs.

They lie and listen.

 _BAM_.

The sudden thunder of footsteps outside - the ear shattering bang of the door - someone! Someone's in! The tense is released – in a blink, like a blade cutting a tight string. The brothers cry out in shock and cling to each other. They scream in high-pitched alarmed voices until two white hands reach out for them from above. Papyrus slaps these hands while Sans, wailing, tries to cover him with his own palms.

“You are _bad_! Go away!”

The hands freeze, looming above them like dead branches. And then the voice comes, terrified and flustered.

“Sans? Papyrus? Hush, be quiet now… It’s me. It’s Gaster”.

The screaming intensifies. Papyrus is into the whole crying thing too much, and Sans somehow can’t understand who is Gaster and what he has to do with them.

“Shut the hell up,” roars the voice, and a hush falls.

Oh, right. Gaster. _That_ Gaster. That neighbour-who-you-have-to-wave-at-even-if-you-hate-him Gaster. That great-scientist-and-even-greater-asshole Gaster. Of course. How could they forget such a _thing_.

It is pretty bad, yet he is something… familiar. Something that makes sense in all the mess.

The tangle of limps slowly falls apart into two little skeletons. They eye Gaster’s hands suspiciously but allow him to take them anyway. He grabs the children rather clumsily: his fingers much more used to handling test-tubes and handles than carrying around heavy kids. Papyrus is pinched and Sans is scraped accidentally, but the rescue operation goes on almost bloodless all in all.

Once out of their shelter, the kids whine again. Gaster moans in irritation.

“Come on, we don’t have much time – we must evacuate with the others – we are already late – so move your bones or you’ll have them _torn off_ ”.

Sans stifles an urge to crawl back behind the coach. Leaving? But how can they leave – how can they not – what would their parents say? They have to wait – but parents always told them to listen to Gaster…

His eyes suddenly find the book lying on the floor. He is finally able to read the sentence he strived with.  
“ _Photons are always in motion; they carry energy and momentum and, in a vacuum, have a constant speed of light to all observers…_ ”

They have to clean up and pack their things. Papyrus shovels his toys under the coach, Gaster shouts for them both to hurry. Their bags must be ready - somewhere, but no one knows where. Sans hurriedly storms through the house, grabbing and throwing things, shutting and opening doors, until Gaster pulls him outside with another angry roar. All he manages to save are some books, his brother’s figurine they fought for, and a little symbol-covered badge that was hanging on their door. Not that bad. But not very good either.

Gaster doesn’t look at Sans twice as they stumble outside. Papyrus is squeezed tight under his arm like some sort of clumsy handle-less bag. The three hurry down the street – Sans only has moments to stare.

Dark windows, looking like dead eyesockets.

Open doors, resembling dropped jaws.

A large ball of the sun, hanging low and heavy above the roofs.

Silent shops.

Empty streets.

Silence.

Silence.

 _Silence_.

Gaster _**leaps** _ to move around some stuck carriages, and Sans gasps, caught off guard. It takes a second for him to synchronize with the movement. Still he feels sick. That is why such things are forbidden for children – they take too much energy and self-control. Papyrus, however, doesn’t need those: since he is carried, and not dragged along, he can relax and screech a “wowie!” in the middle of the leap.

“Shut that stupid muzzle of yours”, growls Gaster and lands. Then he mends his pace till Sans is no longer running by himself but sliding on his heels. Papyrus' legs dangle in the air weakly and miserably.

The first shock is over, and Sans feels confident enough to pull Gaster’s cloak.

“What the hell is up”.

“Where are we going?”

“To a safe place”.

”Where is it?”

“We will reach it once you shut up”.

“Why you are taking us there?”

“Because your parents will make a fillet of me if I do not”.

“And why didn’t our parents come back for us?”

“Because of reasons”.

“What is going on?”

“Oh, you demand answers now? Should I leave you here so you could see what’s going on by your own eyes?”

“Gaster, I didn't mean to be rude, I'm sorry, I just... I’m scared, please, my legs hurt, do you know when will our parents come?”

Gaster looks at him for a long, long time, and averts his stare the moment he notices a wet glisten under Sans’ eyesockets.

“Shut up” – yet now it sounds a bit kinder.

Sans shuts up.

They run along the streets, _**floating** _ past the obstacles if needed. The badge with symbols, slipped under Sans’ shirt, pounds on his breastbone like a crazy outside heartbeat. He closes his eyes shut and tries to pretend that it is just a regular walk. However, then he stumbles, and Gaster swears incoherently and drags him like a puppet, and every chance to think of this as of a walk is lost permanently.

Then suddenly - Gaster stops, like he has run into a wall. Sans crashes into him. Papyrus moans uneasily.

“What the- oh, gods, oh, oh… guess we’re lucky we’re late for the evacuation”.

Sans opens his mouth but has no time to ask. He is suddenly lifted and thrown backwards by Gaster’s violent leap. The scientist runs in an opposite direction. Sans can’t look back, can’t tell what they are running from. But he hears it.

Silence. _Grave_ silence.

Something is going on. Something is missing. Something is too much. The colors suddenly start to fade down. Gaster’s quick steps form a hysterical tap dance, but those fade too, they become quieter and quieter every second.

Sans tries to speak again – and again he is unable. He fears that he won’t hear his own words.

A long **_leap_**. And one more. Gaster _**sweeps** _ over the surface. Sans tells himself not to look down. Silence nears. Colors leave. The houses around them turn black and white before losing that hint of color too. When that is gone… it is not even darkness. Sans knows that darkness is a mere lack of light. While _that_ is not a _lack_ of light – it is the _opposite_ of light. And _that_ silence is also not the lack of sound, it is its opposite. Like there were no sounds or light at all, ever. 

Sans’ legs ache, he stumbles, he whimpers, he never has the spirit to look back or make a sound, and Gaster pulls him farther and farther from the darkness in futile search of places where there’s still light.

Until suddenly-

“Oh no”.

Suddenly there’s no light left around them, and no sound either, apart from that hollow, almost silent static that sounds strangely like a _laughter_ …

And Gaster steps back – and they all are wrapped in an invisible, silent, yet blinding and deafening spark.

 

 

…The teleport goes on rather smoothly for Sans, much to his surprise. Usually teleporting doesn’t end good if there are too many objects carried along.  Gaster pays no attention to the kids. He starts running as soon as his legs hit the ground.

Now they are in a different place, which looks like a lab of a sort – everything is white and sterile. The lamps are still spreading light, the steps echo so wonderfully in the corridors. There’s still life there.

“G-gaster?..”

The scientist looks down in bewilderment. It seems that he has just noticed the kids in his hands.

“Oh? You two still alive? That is a surprise. I thought I was carrying my bags, but, well, not that it matters anymore”.

“Where are we goi –“

“Shut up or you won’t go anywhere”.

“I’m scared”.

“Great. See anyone who cares?”

Both skeletons are dismounted and run on their own, Sans holding to Gaster and Papyrus holding to Sans. They rush into a room with a strange machine entangled in wires and tubes. It is dead, but Gaster brings it to life with a series of steady movements. A buzzing sound fills the air, together with a strong smell of batteries.

“Come on come on come on come on- “

A snapping sound and a glow emit from the machine.

“…gotcha”.

Sans eyes the machine as if it was a dentist’s chair. He cradles Papyrus, who is not even brave enough to move anymore.

“Gaster?..”

Once again the scientist looks down at them like he can’t remember them.

“Oh, o-o-oh, hell of a- Oh”.

Sans tries not to cry. He almost succeeds.

“I'm sorry, so sorry, but... Our parents are coming, aren’t they? I know they went fighting, and they are strong, and they will fight the anomaly and d-defend us all, and come back to us… right?”

Gaster sighs and struggles to sound kind and reassuring.

“…No, not really. Look, Sans – I know you are pretty smart, aren’t you? I bet you’ve overheard a great many of adult’s conversations. Now, what does it all look like? Like a victory, huh? All the emptiness and photons’ negative readings, and… Guess we’ve lost. _They_ ’ve lost”.

Okay, now Sans fails his struggle with tears completely. Papyrus hears him and immediately starts crying too.

Gaster looks at them with disgust and returns to the machine.

“Don’t worry, it will be over soon. Even more soon if you close your eyes and… holy crap, make him shut up, I can’t work in conditions like these!”

“G-gaster… Doctor… mister… l-leader Gaster… I will… do an-nything, please, just… d-don’t let us die, _please_ …”

The man’s fingers pause for a second in midair.

“… _p l e a s e_ …”

Gaster sighs. And starts tapping on the machine’s keyboard again.

“…I’m gonna regret this. I’m gonna regret this so freaking much. But I really need an assistant and a subject, if something… And don’t you dare ever – ever – call that mercy, I warn you! Because I guess I’m just taking you from one hell to another”.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, leader, _thank you_ …”

The lamps dim. One by one.

Sounds die away. One by one.

Gaster quickly pushes the crying duet inside the machine.

“I told you not to- oh, who cares… Come on! Do you want your limbs on or off you once it’s over?”

He taps a few last times and jumps inside himself. The machine roars, but that sound quickly turns into nothingness too…

Too late.

In a blink, the room is washed away by darkness and silence. Everything crumbles into itself, disappearing. No explosions, no cries, tears or blood, - a rather neat process, in fact...

The machine, however, is gone: like it has never been there.

Everything goes spinning and dissolving, and – a moment before any eyes would go blind if there were any eyes left to see it – a heartfelt quiet laughter dies into static and then into nothing.

 

Silent.

 

Dark.

 

_Dar̶͕ḵ̛ͅ ̛͙̙͔̥̤y̷̳̫̲̫̮͔̙̕è̝̝͕͔͎͝t̶̼̫̪̗̹͔͔̩ ̨̼̰̜̖d̸̮̟̳ͅa҉̳͉͖̹̳̮̱͝ͅr̴̵҉͉̥ͅḱ̴̘̳̬͕͙͔̞̝́e̻͕̠̩͝r̙̩͖̺͓̀͠ ̸̢҉̵̴̙̲̠͖͇̺̥̦ý̢̫̠͉̗̟̩̯͘ȩ͘͜҉̡̘̹̼̜͎ţ̨̥̭͓̗̜͚̜̥̤̱̠̹̜̳̭̜̕͟ ̨̛͜҉̗̳͔̭̩̙̠̯̮͎̠̹d̛̛̻̖̦̖̬͝a҉̨̢͍̦̟̜͈͙̞͇͓̱̳̜̖͉͔͕͔͘ͅŕ̢̻̬̻̯̟̦̭͎͕̱̲͟ͅķ̴̛͚͙̭̱͙̱̳̫͇̙͚̫̣̝̩̺̥̪͢ȩ̷̶̷̖͍͖̯̱̼̯̬̭͔͉͉̗͈͔̞̕ŕ̨͚̱̞._

 


	2. Part 2 – where Gaster explains things, wrecks things and proves to be an asshole

The first thing Sans knows is that everything hurts.

Not the best way to start a day, mind you. He would prefer to wake up to a smell of pancakes. The sensation, however, is pleasant in a sense: it shows he is still alive.

Well, that or the afterlife isn’t as nice as they tell you.

He coughs experimentally and feels air spiraling around his bones. Then he notices the cold, and the hardness of the floor he lays on, face down, and the weight of something tough and heavy resting on him. That tough and heavy thing digs quite a set of sharp edges into him, as if it consists entirely of knees and elbows.

Sans tries moving, but his body refuses to as much as shiver. Not wanting to argue with his own bones, he rests a while. The unknown pile of toughness on top of him breathes slightly.

Too uncomfortable to sleep and too exhausted to move, Sans focuses on his breathing. After a good hundred of inhales and exhales, the tough pile on top of him moves a bit, planting an additional series of edges into Sans’ bones. He moans unwillingly.

The pile shifts in a surprised yet lazy way.

“S-s-sh-shs-s…” It swallows soundly and sets off on a second attempt. “S-sh-shans?..”

Sans feels obliged to respond.

“M-hmm”.

“Ur al-live?”

“Mhm”.

“W… wo-a-a-augh”.

What a meaningful conversation.

They lay spread on the floor for another five minutes. Then the pile on him slowly crawls away and turns out to be Gaster and Papyrus, tangled together. Papyrus, still asleep or unconscious, is clenching to Gaster’s coat like a big, weird brooch. Gaster tries to pull him off, but Papyrus’ fingers are stiff and reluctant to move an inch, so the scientist gives up. The trio sprawls on the floor lifelessly.

Sans can finally roll over and rest on his back. The machine looks like a stuck elevator now. The walls of it, covered in wines of wires from outside, have nothing to offer inside. A lifeless control panel here, a set of buttons there, a huge display that gives away no information right above.

Sans looks at it for a moment, toying with a distant thought of getting up.

Nah. Too much effort.

But then Gaster – showing some real spirit – slips out from his coat, pulls himself upright and leans over the wall, ignoring the fact his knees are shaking as a pudding in an earthquake. His speech is intervened by constant tired exhales.

“…okay, that… w-went not as smooth… as planned. Still. As at least… two out of three… subjects are f-found… alive, the experiment… can be called… successful”.

Sans lets a thought process and then sits, terrified.

“T-two out of three?”

“That’s… the observation, yes. I don’t have any equipment or motivation… for a complete check-up… but, since the second subject… didn’t react to irritants, he… may be considered… quite an unlucky fellow”.

Sans rushes at a hurried snail’s speed to check his brother. He untangles the kid from Gaster’s coat, releasing his fingers one by one. He pats Papyrus’ brow, lifts his coat and feels his ribs. Smoky substance, clouding behind the kid’s breastbone, waves at the impact and turns a shade bleaker. Sans sighs.

“H-he – he is fine, too”.

Gaster looks at the kids with a decent amusement written on his face bones.

“Oh. That’s – that’s good news. His energy flow is remarkable”. He runs a hand over his brow and lets out a nervous snort. “That leaves us with three subjects alive and functioning. Wow. Hooray. As the project’s author, I’m rather surprised yet proud. Anyway”.

He makes a wide jest which ends in him losing his balance.

“We are officially doomed now”.

A pause hangs. Sans somehow can’t get it. He just stares at Gaster with big pupil-less eyes, his palms still pressed to Papyrus’ chest as if trying to secure him there.

Doomed? But they are alive. They will now leave that strange elevator and meet everyone again. Their parents will surely be furious with him for not locking the door and leaving a mess, and Gaster will return to being an awful neighbor who embarrasses everyone, and Papyrus will get up, and they all will live happily ever after.

…right?

“G-gaster, please. We are fine… are we? Our parents will come and grab us, a-and…”

“No they won’t”. Gaster casually waves a hand as if attempting a tea talk. “Forget you ever had such a thing as «parents». Or home. Or your street, or your things and whatsoever. Because, well, it’s better to assume you are a blank file and start from that. That’s the most sensible thing to do right now”.

“…what?…”

“In case you are less smart than I accounted, I’ll explain. As you know, our world was suffering an anomaly – if they ever told you that?”

Sans nods, trying not to think about what Gaster has just said.

“I – I heard things”.

“Great. Long story short, that anomaly destroyed our world, together with everything that was inside”.

Okay, _that_ is surely enough to take all of Sans’ attention.

“…But _we_ are alive!”

“Because we no longer belong to it. See – this machine”. Another jest full of affection circles the place. “It was created specifically for the purpose. It took us to, well, another world. The bad news is that the project was… how to put it nicely… nowhere close to being finished. So – yes. We are stuck in a place I hardly know a thing about, with no idea how our energy will react to its physics, having only a slight hope that we will actually survive the day”.

Sans clings to Papyrus and once again tries to fight tears. He is a big boy, after all, not some crybaby. He reaches for his bag to feel the corners of books he took; he pulls out the badge and fingers the symbols on it. He strokes them as if they were pieces of home, as if through them he could somehow send his call to everything left behind.

Gaster scrapes his scull.

“Are you going to cry again? Because it freaks me out. I don’t know how to handle crying things”.

“N-no, I won’t cry”.

“That’s pretty convenient. Still. I don’t have any equipment to investigate the outside, so the only option we have is actually to go out and see everything ourselves. But that is the kind of action I would prefer to postpone. The machine is shielding us from any harmful influence, but the moment we leave, we will be completely vulnerable. And I’d truly like to prolong my supposedly last living moments, even though I will spend them in a company of half-alive codfish”.

They linger in a tense silence for a minute. Gaster seems preoccupied, and Sans doesn’t wish to make the adult speak. Genuine pain and hatred rise inside him in steady, lazy, heavy waves.

Even though it is terrible to think of an adult, of a _higher_ like this; even though it is definitely prohibited and wrong and bad of him, - he can't help it. He wishes it was Gaster. He really wishes Gaster was dead instead of his parents and friends. He really wishes Gaster was spread on the floor miserable and unconscious instead of Papyrus. Times… Verdana… Hebrew, Garamond… they all are gone now, and Gaster stays in their place, not hurt in the slightest. He hates the scientist as much as a child can hate someone, which is a lot, a great, great lot.

“I hate you”.

“Excuse me?!”

“I _hate_ you! I wish it was… I wish _you_ were left there! Not _them_! Not _them all_!”

Sans momentarily shuts his mouth.

How dare he say something like this to an adult?! What is more, to his parents’ confidential?! That was bad, yes, really bad of him. Thunder is approaching, storm is gathering over Sans’ head, and he accepts the inevitable with a bravery of a regretful sinner.

But Gaster simply shrugs his shoulders, completely unimpressed.

“That’s a nice way to thank someone who has just saved your bones from being erased from existence. Anyway, it is a bit too late to throw me in the anomaly now, so I guess you will have to get accustomed to seeing me around”.

His irony and nonchalance choke Sans’ hatred and drive it down into his ribs. The skeleton’s energy curls uneasily. Sans presses a palm to his chest.

Gaster grants him another tired glance.

“Stop trying to kill me with your looks. Anyway. I’ve changed my mind. I can’t stand the atmosphere around here. I’d better die outside than stay to suffer another offence or tantrum of yours”.

Sans lifts Papyrus’ body (whose head hangs lifelessly like a broken flower) and presses him to his chest, as if Papyrus was a plush comforting teddy bear.

“…You _are_ bad”.

“Oh, really?” Gaster rounds his eye sockets and slams some buttons on the control panel. It buzzes, recognizing his energy. “See anyone who ca-?..”

 **Bam**.

The door, instead of smoothly moving away, screeches, jerks a couple of times and then falls off.

And something happens.

 _Everything_ happens.

Sans instinctively gasps but can’t feel air. He drops Papyrus without noticing it. His energy goes wild and crazy and shatters his ribs from inside, pounding at them as a stormy ocean pounds at the shore. His head swims, his mind is terrifyingly blank, and the panic overcomes him. Something is taken from him – something is pushed inside him – something is drained – something is overflow – something is rocketing, streaming through his bones like a million of sparks…

Everything is too much, too much, too much,

_too much._

 

***

 

Loss.

“…as…”

Loss. Fear.

“…as… ans?…”

Cold, fear, loss. Lack of something. A voice, calling for somebody. Who is talking?

“…Sans oh gosh wake up you survived a freaking enter-dimensional trip and now you’re trying to freaking die from _that_ Sans oh damn it come on stop that dying thing you are doing you are freaking me out _wake up_ …”

Sans wakes up slowly again. The first panicky thoughts of death stir him in an attempt to prove that he is still alive. His body jerks violently, and for a second he feels like he is falling, thundering down, but then everything settles.

The second, not so panicky, thought is: oh, come on, why should I go through this twice in a row. Why should this day be so terrible right from the start.

The third thought, filled with growing irritation: if Gaster is responsible for _this_ too, I will tell Papyrus to bite him.

“Sans, please, wake up or I’m gonna freak out, I mean it, and you won’t like it, _no one_ likes it when I freak out, I swear!..”

Sans opens his eyes to see two porcelain-like worried faces, leaning to him. The bigger face is distorted by a bouquet of emotions that no description will fit.  The smaller face immediately beams with just two emotions: happiness and cunning.

“SANSY!” – and poor Sansy feels the air and life leaving him as a small, but heavy and enthusiastic lump of bones plants on his chest.

And his voice – Papyrus’ voice is _weird_. Different. Like someone took his original voice and then changed it slightly, added and cut some notes from it. Now that Sans notices it, he understands also that Gaster’s voice sounded a bit different too, but not _that_ different – not to that extent.

However, now he has problems worse than some voice shenanigans. Like having his ribs almost crushed by some over stimulated little skeleton.

“papyrus, stop this! get off!” caws Sans and chokes on air.

It feels weird, somehow. The way the air enters his throat and makes his energy vibrate. And his voice has changed, too…

“NO-O”, says Papyrus slyly, pouting.

“papyrus, you’re gonna break me!”

“NO-O-O! NO!” Papyrus bounces on his elder brother happily. The aforementioned elder brother squeaks and rasps like an old coach put to too much use. “YOU! ARE! SQUISHY!”

“…i’ll take that for a compliment”, utters Sans between two breath-taking bounces.

Gaster sighs, closing his eyes with a palm.

“…oh, goodness. Finally you are awake. You are so weak, I can’t even…” Another heavy sigh. “Well. It seems that the readjustment went well”.

Sans carefully pushes Papyrus away and stands. The broken door lies before him, and he sees the outside: a snowy, misty grey forest. Is that the “another world” they have travelled to? He wanders outside, trembling a bit. Gaster and Papyrus follow him wordlessly.

Sans sighs and sits in the snow. It actually feels nice – it feels _regular_.

“what’s up with my voice?”

Gaster scrubs his brow very uneasily and starts walking to and fro.

“I still have to make a proper theory, but, according to my observations and the early research, this place’s energy is rather aggressive. Since we are made of a different kind of matter, which is more submissive by nature, it was restructured in order to coexist with the present emanation. Which, in turn, affected your core directly, solidifying it so that it is able to withstand more direct and concentrated energy radiation…”

Sans frowns, trying not to drown in words. Papyrus has calmed down completely and watches Gaster, hypnotized. He adores new words.

“RAR-TI-AI-SHHHN”, says he in complete astonishment.

“About the voice, well. The energy that enabled us to emit sounds in our home world is not enough anymore. I concocted a thing with both my old and newfound energy, which is, I’m afraid, a terrible mix and I’m not even sure how I did it in the first place. Anyway. That spell will do for a while, until I’m able to replace it with a better one. Still, I tried to make you sound as much alike your old selves as I could”.

“ _you_ sound _more_ like your old self!”

Gaster makes a graceful step.

“Well, I would be lying if I said I didn’t put a bit more effort in it. After all, I prefer to speak _in style_ -“

Gaster stumbles over a snow lump and face-plants.

“ST-UUUUU-YLE”, says Papyrus thoughtfully and seriously.

Sans chuckles, covering his mouth with both palms. A quiet, muffled “…screw you” is heard from the snow lump.

“Heya, you there! Need help?..”

A new voice is coming from the trees. Sans and Papyrus turn around, Gaster rises his head from the snow.

There is someone standing there. He looks… weird. Really weird. He is covered in some sort of grass or threads, he has something like glass balls in his eye sockets, and his head is adorned with two long… things. Which seem to be alive, even?..* Sans stares at him far more than he should, all the chances to seem a polite child gone with the wind. But he can’t help, really. His jaw is dropped, his eyes are completely round; the only his consolation is that Gaster and Papyrus look just the same at the moment.

Gaster is to awaken first.

“Um. Hello, stranger. Yes, your help would be appreciated. Would you mind telling us where we are? We are lost”.

The stranger eyes them, and the large things on his head twist a bit. He looks at the trio in the snow, at a big and silent machine stuck in a lump nearby.

“You’re new here, aren’t you? You don’t look like us Snowdin folk… Are you some city neat-os or something? My, seems you’ve spanked your butts on the ice pretty hard there, ha!”

Papyrus guiltily snorts at the word “butt”. Gaster sighs in the snow and finally stands back.

“…Yes. We have. Now, if you don’t mind, show us the direction to that… Snowdin”. He thinks for a moment. “Please. I’ll pay you”.

The monster shrugs it off.

"Nah. Why in the world? A lil help is free of charge, don't fret. You don't owe me anything".

Gaster drops his jaw again and doesn't seem to put it back anytime soon. His fingers wander to his right eye and freeze there.

"...As you wish".

 

***

 

They make it to Snowdin. It is a funny little town, a sugary, dreamlike one, with houses too small and people too carefree. It doesn't feel quite normal: you suppose to see such towns on pictures and in books, but never in real life. Sans is trailing behind the older skeleton like a shy shadow, with Papyrus’ hand clenched in his own palm. The smaller kid is prone to causing trouble, and, well, he doesn’t want them to have trouble on their first day.

They eventually stay at the Inn. There is an old lady there with two smaller strangers, kids probably, who poke fingers at them from behind the corner. The lady sighs and gasps right after hearing that the skele-trio got lost, and nothing can stop her from that moment. “Oh, sweethearts, you must be awfully cold and sleepy after wandering so much, and of course I will let you in for a night, poor homeless things, yes, let you stay in at a reasonable price of 60 gold…” and so on and so on.

Gaster eventually gets to talk to her and drowns the lady in terms and participial clauses until she grudgingly lowers the price. The scientist seems mildly surprised at the outcome. However, they promise the lady to pay as soon as they scribble a little gold and move in. The innkeeper frowns at their good clothes and looks like she doesn’t believe their “poverty” at all. But they still have a room to stay at the end, even though the neighbors are just a little bit loud and the bed a little bit jumpy. They are comfortable and safe. For now, at least.

They don’t even try to investigate, or meddle with questions. It would only raise suspicion, after all. Gaster takes Sans outside, far from curious ears and eyes, and warns him that that world’s residents shouldn’t know a thing about their little journey.

“It is an unknown place“, he says, “and the habitants may be not as nice as they seem”.

“They will most probably have us for lab skells”, he says, “yes, lab skells for experiments”.

“If you let this slip, they will… They will probably tear us in bones”, he mutters sullenly, and his finger scrubs his right brow.  

“And if _they_ don’t, then _I_ will – for not being able to keep your goddamned mouth shut”.

The place gets darker, and Gaster, frowning and mumbling something, teleports back to the forest. He comes back after a few hours, dragging the machine with him. Sans meets him and shamefully titters inside at the scene: the tall, bony figure of the scientist, puffing over his machine, looks crazy and hilarious. Especially if one doesn’t know about _energy_.

They hide the machine in some abandoned garage. Gaster slams the door shut, and they return to the inn, where Papyrus is sleeping already. The old lady at the door looks at them sweetly and comments on how nice seeing a family is.

Sans is ready to bark that they are _not_ a family, but Gaster is quick to slam a palm into the kid’s teeth and pull him upstairs. Sans tries to behave and not to show resistance. Still, he eventually accidentally bites Gaster. The scientist slaps him hard and nurses his injured limb for half an hour with the most offended, funniest look. 

 

In an hour, both Gaster and Papyrus fall asleep, one on the bed and another in the armchair. Sans doesn’t sleep, more because he tells himself he doesn’t want to than because he actually has insomnia. He sits at the window and peers outside with heavy, sleepy eyes. 

The skyless dark height looms above the small town. Snow is falling slowly from it. He watches it and thinks of the sun.

Sans takes a badge, a symbol-covered badge from his pocket. His fingers wrap around the smooth metal carefully. He finds a crack on it from when he'd dropped it once, a split where a stone hit it one day. And he feels an urge to cry, to weaken the fear and exhaustion and pain by letting it out in tears. But he doesn’t. He is a big boy, after all. Not some crybaby. And, well, that time he wept before Gaster – he had an excuse. He was sca… he caught something in his eye, yes.

Just that.

Sans clings to the badge and curls around it on the bed, pushing Papyrus aside (the kid doesn’t wake up. You need at least a cannon blast to wake up Papyrus). Gaster, spread in the least comfortable position he was capable of, is snoring in the armchair. Sans sighs and turns his face to the wall.

Everything grows darker around him, and it is fine: he is not afraid of it. It is a good darkness, cozy and warm. It wraps him like a blanket. It makes it easier to imagine.

He closes his eyes and pretends he is back home. He pretends he hears his parents enter the house quietly, trying not to wake up the kids, talking to each other in muffled voices.

He pretends everything is alright.

 

 

…Even if he _was_ to cry a bit – who would see it, anyway?..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *It is a bunny. Just that. Not some grassy horned monster. If you are a skeleton, seeing something fleshy for the first time would feel really odd.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this: http://therightnippleofarcher.tumblr.com/post/133361700522/are-yall-ready-for-another-undertale-theory.


End file.
